The Colour of Tomorrow
by LeeT911
Summary: In which Blake ponders camping and bunk beds. "And she isn't even sure how they came to these sleeping arrangements, she only knows she wasn't consulted." Blake/Yang


**The Colour of Tomorrow**

 _RWBY_ fanfiction by LeeT911

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Blake has the third watch on the night she decides she doesn't like the sleeping arrangements back in their dorm room. It's not about Yang and Ruby's snoring, Weiss' military-grade alarm clock, or not having top bunk. It's about camping out under the stars, four bedrolls huddled around a fire, and only each other for company. Out here, Blake has the perfect excuse to be up in the middle of the night. She's on watch.

And her watch is the darkest part of the night, because the moon sets early this time of year, and she's the only one in their team who can see in this. So Blake is perched in a tree, high enough for her to spot all approaches into their campsite. Below her, their fire is burned out, a memory of embers doused just after sunset. It would have been too dangerous to keep it lit through the night. The smell of Beowolves is in the air, though their howls have stayed distant.

Ruby and Weiss have their bedrolls right up against the fire pit, trying to catch any residual heat. Both girls are sleeping curled into balls, weapons in evidence nearby. Yang, on the other hand, is splayed out on ground oblivious to the cold, snoring softly with her blanket tangled up in her limbs.

Blake thinks to sneak over there and rearrange the blanket, but she doesn't want to risk waking the blonde. Especially considering Yang wore her bracers to bed. Besides, she kind of likes watching Yang sleep. It's the sort of thing she can't do in their room, by virtue of being in the bed below Yang's. And Blake doesn't even remember how they got to those sleeping arrangements; she only knows she was never consulted beforehand.

But tonight is their fourth night in the forest, and now that Blake's had a few chances to observe, she's come to a couple of conclusions. First, Yang snores exactly the same way as Ruby. It happens when they sleep on their backs, and Ruby might be louder, but Yang rolls around and ends up in that position a lot more. Second, sleeping Yang is just as beautiful as waking Yang.

Waking Yang is fire and strength, intensity and confidence, lilac eyes and hair the color of sunrise. Sleeping Yang is all those things and more. Sleeping Yang is soft and sometimes vulnerable, serene but just as passionate, fierce but always gentle. Sleeping Yang is everything that Blake is not. Sleeping Yang is rolling over again, and now the blanket is left behind.

There is hesitation on Blake's part, but only for moment. Then she's jumping out of the tree, stepping off her branch and landing silently on all fours. The ground smells of damp earth and wet leaves. She scoops up the lost blanket and shakes the twigs out of it.

Pausing next to Yang, she watches the gradual rise and fall of the blonde's breathing up close. She looks down at the blanket in her hands and she does feel like a coward sometimes. Because all she does is drape the blanket over Yang and freeze when the blonde mutters something unintelligible. But the eyes don't open, and Blake holds her breath until the snoring starts again.

Cautiously, she checks once more that Yang is tucked in, then retreats back up her tree. It's safer here, with some distance between them. Blake stares out across the moonless sky, and the million tiny points of light blinking back at her. She thinks of bunk beds and yesterday's battles, friendship and adventure, peace and changing the world, but mostly she dreams of love. And she hates feeling like a teenager sometimes, because she tells herself that she should be stronger than this.

Hours later, Blake hasn't moved from her spot, and it's only the sudden stop of snoring that makes her realize her watch should have ended long ago and that they're already part way into Yang's. The sky is brightening, almost imperceptibly, and the sun of a new day isn't that far off.

The blonde is sitting up now, eyes squinting into the darkness and scanning the perimeter of their camp. She smiles when Blake drops down next to her, glances at the clock on her scroll and rubs her eyes. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"I didn't notice the time."

"You weren't tired?"

"No."

"It's almost sunrise." Yang stands and stretches, wraps the blanket around her like a cloak.

Blake only nods.

"Do you want to watch it with me?"

And sometimes, Blake thinks that Yang sees right through her. "Sure."

So they climb the tree together this time, going as high as they can, looking for a branch facing the right direction. When they do find a good candidate to settle on, Yang sits close and lays her blanket over their legs. "We'll be back at Beacon tonight."

"I kind of like it out here." Blake admits.

"I know." Yang answers, even though Blake can't imagine how Yang possibly could. And Blake wishes she were braver now, instead of only in combat, so that she could say something real and meaningful, and not at all ordinary.

But nothing appropriately casual comes to mind, so she falls silent, listening to the birds chirp in the pre-dawn stillness. Slowly, the sky grows light and the stars fade away. And as the sun peeks above the treetops, Blake drifts off to sleep without meaning to, her head resting on Yang's shoulder.

When Blake wakes again, the sun is fully up, but Yang is still there with the blanket around them. "You missed the sunrise, but it seemed like you needed the sleep more." Yang is still there, with the morning light filtering through her golden locks.

She smiles then, and Blake can't help but feel that _this_ is the color of tomorrow. And it's just like her sunrise.


End file.
